Office Grump An Enemies to Lovers Romance - Nicole Snow Page 0,169
my cousin, my mom’s side. I haven’t seen her since Mom’s funeral, but when I’d called in a nervous fit last week, she’d invited us to come to Montana and stay with her until our trouble gets sorted.
Our choices are pretty limited when we’re low on money, and Noelle is the only family we know with a farm and plenty of space for us to bring along Rosie and Stern.
Too bad Miles City is hundreds of miles from Wisconsin. I swear, we’d be there by now if it wasn’t for that stupid flat and this intensifying storm we hit past Bismarck.
She and her husband have a hobby farm a lot like ours, only instead of pumpkins, they sell eggs, homemade cheeses, and other goods. She’s always wanted us to see it, and a small part of me was looking forward to being part of something like that again.
That pit in my gut deepens, scrolling through the missed calls.
She’s been texting for hours.
With the snow demanding every bit of my focus, I hadn’t taken a hand off the steering wheel to do anything except hit the blinker switch to pull in here.
Crap. Whatever it is, I don’t think she’s just checking up on our progress.
The coffee arrives, steaming and black. I reach for a sugar packet and tear it right open, hoping nobody notices how my hands shake.
I thank the bartender before telling Dad, “Be right back. I need to use the ladies’ room.”
Tucking my phone in my pocket, I spot the restroom sign above a hallway near the end of the bar. Purple, what else?
Of course, I carefully avoid another awkward stare-down with Tiger Sex Eyes. He must be quite the comedian—the bartender and the oil guys are still roaring at whatever he’s saying.
Probably some crude joke that’d be too fitting for a place like this.
The hallway is short. I shove open the women’s door and enter the small, two-stalled room, pull out my phone, and hit Noelle’s contact.
She answers after one ring. “Grace? Oh my God, finally.”
“Yep, it’s me.” Turning around, I lean my backside against the top of the sink. “What’s wrong?”
She goes deathly quiet. “Well, um...have you guys left Milwaukee yet?”
“We left early this morning just like we planned. Had to change a tire on the truck halfway through Minnesota, then this snowstorm we ran into...we had to pull over. But we’re coming tonight, just a few more hours and—”
“Oh,” she whispers.
Another heavy silence.
That one, innocent word kills me.
Don’t do this, Noelle, I think to myself, trying not to fall over with my heart frozen.
“I...I really hoped I’d catch you while you were still at home.”
My nerves are a jumbled mess, a little more frayed with every word she speaks. Noelle doesn’t sound like her usual bubbly self, and I’m scared of what’s coming.
“What’s up?” I force the question through clenched teeth. “Noelle...what happened?”
“Well, uh...God, I hate to say this, but...something’s come up. You and Uncle Nelson aren’t going to be able to stay with us after all.”
No.
My heart hits my stomach and shatters like a snow globe on cement.
“I’m so sorry, Grace,” Noelle says, sniffing like she’s on the verge of tears. “I hope you have somewhere else.”
Sure.
If we had somewhere else, I’d have never called her and wept with gratitude when she said we could come. It’s not like we were asking to move in.
We only needed a month or so, a few weeks, just enough time to check on Dad’s health and figure out our next move.
“What changed, Noelle?” I ask. Then, because she’s known to sugarcoat things, I add, “Tell me the truth.”
Her sad, heavy sigh echoes in the phone.
“I didn’t hear the message. James did. It was on the voicemail at the gift shop. It mentioned you and Uncle Nelson...something about not making everyone in the family sing the 'Old Milwaukee Blues.' It was menacing and it came from an untraceable number. James wouldn’t let me or the kids hear it. I’m...I’m so sorry, Grace. I hate this, but we have children. We can’t get involved in—”
“I get it,” I snap, rubbing at the awful pain in my temple. “No, you can’t risk it. You...you did the right thing.”
The words feel so numb, I have to keep repeating it over and over in my head.
But there’s a deeper question nagging me.
How did they know?
Dad hasn’t talked to anyone, and I sure as hell haven’t.
We’ve given that maniac everything. More than everything, but it’ll never be enough.